The Stray Cat
By Elizabeta
December 1996
She sits on my back porch
Sleeping peacefully
Or just staring into space.
She has bright green eyes
The color of emeralds
And sleek black fur.
She is not small
And not big.
I don't know how she got here
Or where she's been
Or where she will be.
She must be a stray
But she is too elegant and beautiful.
She's not like the other stray cats.
She's not like the fancy show cats.
She's not like anyone but herself.
I step outside
And she looks at me.
Her mysterious ways have attracted me to her
And she seems happy about it.
Her meow is like a purr and a meow combined.
She does not come to me. though.
She must be shy
Or playing hard to get.
I go over to her
And she has a satisfied look on her face.
Her mysteriousness has done it again.
She might be young
Or old.
I really can't tell.
I look into her emerald eyes
And they are full of secrets
That only she knows.
If she could talk,
What a story she could tell.
What a book she could write.
I wonder if she has a home.
I might just keep her.
But she really doesn't belong to anyone.
She is independent.
She takes care of herself.
She doesn't need humans.
But I think she wants to be loved.
Although she tries not to show
Her affections for me.
She acts catty.
But she is one; it's only natural.
i can tell she likes me
When she rubs against my ankles
And licks my hand
And gazes at me
With emeralds as eyes.
She wants to stay a while
And I'm going to let her.
I let her inside.
I'm afraid she will not use the litter box
And scratch the furniture.
But my fears are in vain.
She knows how to use the litter box
And she wipes her paws on a towel.
She does this with feminine grace.
She doesn't scratch anything
And she eats her cat food
Gracefully and doesn't spill anything.
I am amazed.
Why is she so neat,
So graceful,
So elegant,
So mysterious?
I don't know the answers.
She does.
They're hidden in her emerald eyes.
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